Doors that close, and doors that open.

I don't actually believe in numerology, but I like numbers. It's a small pleasure looking at my phone and seeing the time is 12:34 or 3:21 or 4:44. But it didn't strike me until New Year's Eve that 2016 adds up to 9--an ending year. And 2017, quite ominously, is a Start.

So while I don't actually believe in numerology, I'm literary enough to appreciate a well-place omen. I'm not going to dwell on everything that ended, crashed, burned, got snuffed out, and skidded to a halt last year. Today I'm waking up in the wreckage and realizing that this is where I have to start. These are the conditions. This is where we are.

As artists we are frequently told that what we do isn't all that important in the grand scheme of things. It is true that art is not oxygen, not literally. Oxygen is a First Thing. Then water, food, shelter. But once those bases are covered we start painting the caves, telling stories, and beating the drums. When artists are absent, everyone notices (see: upcoming inauguration). We count, we matter, we are needed, and this a Start year.